


John, Interrupted

by Consulting_Angel



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: Alternate Universe - Asylum, Apparently I have to add porn or my girlfriend will kill me, M/M, PTSD, Ratings will also go up, Things will get added as more chapters come, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Consulting_Angel/pseuds/Consulting_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson comes back from the war things don't quite turn out as he hoped...</p><p>--Not based off of the movie at all, I really just needed a title. --</p>
            </blockquote>





	John, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to my beta leatherandcherryblossoms without her I would have a few annoying and possibly embarrassing spelling and grammar errors.

First and foremost, John Watson was not insane. Even after two failed suicide attempts and multiple panic episodes in the clinic, he was still convinced of his absolute sanity. He was just a bit depressed from the war was all; nothing too horrible. Lots of guys went through problems after coming back home, it was only natural. Though, after this last incident, he knew there was no way in hell he was going to be allowed into the world again unless he managed to get himself some form of help.

 

_Three shots were fired; two from an Army Browning L9A1, one from a government issued side arm designed for the police. He hadn’t meant for it to end in gunfire, Watson thought to himself as they cuffed him; he was just following his instincts. The lady in front of him in the line at Tesco’s was much too suspicious looking. For all he knew, she could have been a suicide bomber, trying to keep herself inconspicuous. He hadn’t meant to shoot her, he really hadn’t. He wanted her to know that he knew exactly who she was and what he would do to her if she didn’t leave the store that instant. Then things just got messy... At least, that’s what he had tried to convince himself._

The first responders rushed the woman out of the store, hardly paying attention to John Watson. He wasn’t their problem at the moment. The man was shoved to the ground, not being seen as an obviously sick man, but a dangerous one. Of course, both were true, the latter was just more obvious at the moment. Hours passed, though they felt only like minutes, and John was finally taken into questioning about the murder. The room wasn’t large; however it wasn’t uncomfortably small, which John was grateful for; small spaces never did make him feel particularly comfortable.

 

He rubbed his fingers over the soft material of his jumper, forcing himself to take deep breaths. Everything was going to be fine. He hadn’t done anything wrong….right? He was protecting his country from a terrorist attack. He was a hero. He had to keep telling himself that, it wasn’t he fault, it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his fault.

 

_It was his fault. Deep down inside he knew it was his fault. He knew the woman was innocent. John had killed an innocent woman._

“Mr. Watson?” A man, slightly larger than himself, though considerably older judging by the grey in his hair questioned as he entered the room cautiously. “My name is Detective Inspector Lestrade. I’m here to talk about the homicide you committed a few hours ago.”

 

The questioning continued for another forty-five minutes, the Detective Inspector asking him questions about his personal life and why he would do such a crime and other similar lines of questioning.

 

“Have you ever killed anyone before?” He had asked, the question took John by surprise, though upon actually thinking about it, he had realized that the question actually made sense.

 

“Well I just got back from Afghanistan a few weeks ago, I was a doctor, but I’ve had to kill my fair share of people before. So, yeah.”  Lestrade nodded in understanding.  


The Inspector stood up and walked over to John’s side of the table. “John, I’m your friend here, I know plenty of men who came back from that war damaged and hurt. Have you had…outbreaks like this in the past?”

 

_John flashbacked to his first day back in England; he had seen horrible things back in Afghanistan, but he had come to terms with it and knew that that particular time in his life was completely over now. That’s what he wanted to happen, at any rate. Though that’s not exactly the truth. He had already threatened to kill his cabbie, and almost killed himself in the course of only twenty-four hours. He had been forced to daily therapy, starting with the day after he got back. His therapist had told him that he was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder- PTSD, and that the war haunted him. Maybe it was true, though he didn’t find himself as jumpy as the other men that had been diagnosed with it. If anything, he had found himself more uncomfortable with silence than anything._

“There’ve been a couple of panic attacks, nothing awful…” _Nothing like this._ “Inspector?” The man nodded urging John to continue his question. “Who did I kill…?”

 

Lestrade sighed deeply, looking into John’s eyes. “An innocent woman.” John shook his head no. There was no way…She couldn’t have been… She was dangerous, she had bought the materials to make a bomb… _Or to clean her house…_

 

“Can I have a few moments alone?” John pleaded with the DI, the man just nodded and left the man alone to think for ten minutes.

 

 _An innocent woman._ The words kept going through John’s mind over and over again, trying to get a grasp on them. He had killed a woman, someone who could have had a husband, a family, and friends. Someone who could have had annoying neighbours and a boss that hated her; she might have had a kid or two, and he had taken her from them. She had probably never did any wrongdoings that had earned her a brutal death like this.  

 

Minutes later, Lestrade came back into the room, ready to talk to John about sentencing. “We can cut you a deal, Watson, if that’s what you want.” The man didn’t seem to be hostile, only a bit nervous. John perked up to show that he was listening. “We can get you a few years in an institution, it’s better than the twenty-five to life you would be getting normally. You have PTSD, I saw your record. We can get you help.”

 

John shook his head. He knew he needed help, it was a fact. He killed a woman, he didn’t even know her name and he had killed her. It didn’t mean he _wanted_ it. He didn’t want to admit that he was insane. He wanted so bad to be normal after the war. He didn’t want to be another statistic. Then again, an institution would be considerably better than prison.  The war was one thing; prison was an entirely different animal. Though it may be interesting to see just how different it- _no._ If Lestrade was going to offer him something like this, it meant he had to pull strings. He wasn’t going to be difficult just because he wanted more adventure in his life. Besides, who was to say that an asylum wasn’t going to be interesting?

 

“That sounds…that sounds like a deal.” He said. “Thank you.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm planning on updating once a week, maybe more if I have the time. This will not go unfinished though, so even if it takes me a month to update it will actually get done.


End file.
